


Clothed

by steponmeasra



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Clothed Sex, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:48:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29253225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steponmeasra/pseuds/steponmeasra
Summary: Clothed sex with amab!Asra, afab!Reader POV.
Relationships: Apprentice/Asra (The Arcana), Asra (The Arcana)/Reader
Kudos: 62





	Clothed

**Author's Note:**

> ANONYMOUS ASKED: "Cloths sex with Asra with a fem Mc if your comfortable with it ^\\\\\\\^"  
> Oh, dearest Nonny, I am more than comfortable indulging a private fantasy of mine that apparently, you and I share 😉  
> I present to you….

Ever since your life with Asra returned to normal, the devil now defeated, you’ve discovered what feels like a million new things about each other. How Asra’s laugh sounds when it’s breathless with pleasure. Exactly where to touch him to drive him wild. What it feels like to be closer to him than you ever dared hope you would be allowed, writhing naked under the sheets, limbs intertwined and bodies pulsating in sync.

You’ve discovered new things about yourself, too. You had always yearned for Asra, wanted to kiss him, to be near to him, but you hadn’t anticipated just how hungry your body was for his. Once you were finally allowed to touch him, let him touch you, it was like a floodgate opened. You couldn’t keep your hands off of him. You couldn’t be without him, for even a few hours, or you felt you might go mad.

Almost nightly, you would find yourself begging him through your exhaustion for just one more round, just let you touch him a little more… He would chuckle and sigh, reminding you that there was no rush, you had forever together. But he couldn’t deny you, didn’t want to deny you. He’d waited almost a decade for your love. Hearing your desperation for him was the sweetest symphony.

While he wouldn’t deny you, Asra was certainly not above teasing you. The way your cries would turn into whines, your hands caressing him so seductively in an attempt to change his mind, the way your flushed, swollen lips would beg him so sweetly with the filthiest words—the delayed gratification, the building of tension, it was the most delicious torture he could dream of.

The two of you had taken a vacation, of sorts, after defeating the devil. You spoiled yourselves rotten on each other, spending days and then weeks curled so tightly around each other in the bed you shared. You were much too newly in love to be expected to run the shop. You both agreed, you deserved time to adjust to this new life you were building together. No more secrets, no more lies, no more mortal peril or heroic sacrifices. Just you, and him, your shared meals, your afternoons spent laying in the sun listening to the birds chirp, and nights spent entangled, drenched in sweat, moaning each others names like prayers heard at an altar.

But you couldn’t keep the shop closed forever. Begrudgingly, you had agreed to open the doors and dust the cobwebs from your business. Only the night before, Asra had buried his head into the crook of your neck as he rolled his hips against yours while you rode out your orgasm, sobbing his name—

“Distracted, my love?” Asra whispers in your ear after seeing your eyes go unfocused, the way your thighs rub themselves together so subtly impossible for him to miss.

Though your cheeks flush just slightly, the heat building in your belly wouldn’t allow you to be embarrassed. “I’d rather spend the day naked underneath you—"

And then a customer walks in.

You try to refocus, to behave, but _gods_ , how can you help yourself when Asra is so beautiful? So ethereal? So patient, caring, kind, knowledgeable? He waited so long for you, he gave half his heart to bring you back, he’s the love of your life, you just _need_ him so _badly_

You can’t help the blush that creeps down your neck and chest whenever you think of his beautiful body, glistening, muscles coiling as he pounds into you. Asra notices the delightful shade of strawberry pink covering your collarbones and simply raises a brow, accompanied by a conspiratorial smirk in your direction. As he moves around the shop showing the customer potions and herbs, you can’t help but run your hand down his arm as he passes, or push your hips back against his when he squeezes in between you and a shelf of spellbooks. You’re drawn to him, unable to stop the soft, breathy moans that leave your lips when he clasps your hand in his and gives you the tiniest, most chaste kiss while his patron browses the shelves.

It almost feels, to you, like the shop is ten degrees hotter than it usually is. The images dancing behind your lids have you biting your lip and fidgeting with the inventory book in front of you. Your breaths feel just a tad labored, your lids droop. All the magic in the world couldn’t hide the subtle plum-red blush on Asra’s cheekbones when he looks your way. He knows this look of yours all too well.

When the customer asks if the two of you might give him a joint card reading, you hatch a plan, or at least an idea. You gleefully accept and pull both the older man and Asra into the back room, plopping them down and settling in next to Asra on the bench. “Why don’t you start, sweetheart,” you encourage, as your hand rests itself on his knee.

Perhaps Asra might admonish you later, for disrespecting the sacred art of interpreting the cards—but for now, when your hand slides up his inner thigh inch by inch, he merely gulps and continues the reading in a voice a bit shakier than it was before.

Above the tabletop, you nod along convincingly, sprinkling tiny _oohs_ and _ahhs_ for effect. Under the tablecloth, however, your fingertips run featherlight over the seam of his trousers, drifting agonizingly slowly over the ridge of his half-hard cock under the fabric. You bite your lip to stifle a moan as his hands start to shake. You wrap your palm fully around the shape of him, hot even through the fabric, and squeeze just so—

Asra drops both his hands to the table, palm down, with a jolt. “I’m sorry sir, the cards simply will not, uh, speak with me any more at this, um, present moment. Could I, uh, help you with your things?” The panic in his voice has you laughing into your palm as Asra hastily helps the older gentleman to the front of the shop, and then out the door with a few herbs in a satchel and a handwritten pamphlet on their usage. You follow him to the front door to giggle your way through an apology, but stop dead when you see Asra slam the door shut and flick the deadbolt into place.

In two strides he’s upon you, picking you up and placing you on the countertop. “You make me crazy,” he moans into your mouth. His tongue forces its way into your mouth as his clever fingers reach under your skirts and find your undergarments, pulling them down your legs as you hike your skirts and wrap your legs around his waist.

Through the haze of your kiss, you reach blindly down for the laces of his trousers. Your hands grapple alongside his, before he pulls his hard length from the confines of the fabric and then pulls your hips closer to the edge of the counter. When he moves to push inside you, he groans aloud, having met no resistance. “So wet for me, my love,” he moans. “You feel so— _so_ good.” His thrusts are frenzied as he pumps in and out of you, one of his hands finding its way to your breast through the thin fabric of your shirt, gripping the supple, full flesh hard in his hand.

You feel your orgasm building, your legs beginning to shake. “I’m s-so close, Asra, I’m so close,” you pant breathlessly. His motions rattle the contents of the cabinet below you, but you haven’t the mind to care. He pulls your mouth back to his and kisses you hard, furiously, as your body tenses around his, your vision going black and then erupting back into the soft purple light of the shop. You look at him from under your heavy lids, dazed and weak-limber. “Did you…?”

He’s short of breath, but effortlessly picks you up with your shaking legs still tight around his waist. “My love,” he sighs as he begins to ascend the stairs, “I’m not done with you, yet.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, ya filthy heathen. Hit ya girl up at tumblr/steponmeasra ✌️


End file.
